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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26542549">please forgive me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Dom/sub Undertones, Hetalia Countries Using Human Names, I'm Sorry, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, apology kink, because I cannot write smut for the life of me, honestly this is just crack, is that even a thing?, no beta we die like men, seriously, this whole thing is just a cockblock, well now it is</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:09:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,159</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26542549</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>So maybe he had a thing for being apologised to, so what?<i></i></i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Canada/Prussia (Hetalia)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>please forgive me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello everyone!</p><p>This fanfic spawned because I was thinking about that one (1) Canadian stereotype where they apologise for everything. I am so sorry. Also please keep in mind that I haven't written anything in a while, so sorry if this is shit lmao.</p><p>I almost just titled this "just Gilbert's horny panic" (without any actual sex, I'm sorry). Also I need more smutty or suggestive PruCan stories, okay? Anyways, hope you enjoy! ^^</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At least there was <em> something </em>he could admit to never being any good at.</p><p>Apologies, certainly to him, were a weakness. A blatant, vulnerable, weakness that made bile bubble up in his throat whenever he was faced with a situation in which <em> he </em> had to. He was never supposed to be remorseful, he was never supposed to regret anything, and he made sure just about that much was clear. In his eyes, apologies were just another way of hopelessly admitting to being a pathetic pushover; essentially a plea to be wastefully trodden on, and Gilbert Beilschmidt was certainly far from one of <em> those </em>.</p><p>If he ever did anything wrong, his first instinct would be to turn the situation right on it’s head; make <em> them </em> apologise for wasting his time. Watch their face twist into a humiliating discomfort, a silent plea for mercy before their eyes would go wide, just <em> slightly </em> watery like ensnared prey; and their ushered voice would eventually, disgracefully, utter something along the lines of; <em> “I’m sorry, please forgive me. I’m so sorry.”  </em></p><p>So maybe he had a thing for being apologised to, so what?</p><p>The words alone drove a part of him mad; animalistic even, as if streams of pure, golden power were rushing straight to his head and flowing in shocking currents through every vein and vessel in the rest of his body. Made his chest flutter restlessly and his head spin. The idea that someone was sorry to him, the idea they wanted to <em> please </em>him...</p><p>
  <em> That’s it. Keep going. I don’t think you’re really sorry. Sound like you mean it. </em>
</p><p>Okay, <em> sometimes </em>he milked it, tried to force as much from someone as he possibly could before they’d just defeatedly give up, but how could he help it? The rush it gave him was addictive, fueled his imagination to access scenarios that anyone else would probably smack him for.</p><p>
  <em> I’m not convinced you’re sorry yet. Get on the ground - on your knees, kneel. Yeah, just like that. I wonder if I should kick you now that you’re like this… maybe I’ll forgive you if you let me. Now start begging for forgiveness. </em>
</p><p>Unfortunately, very few people have the nerve to apologise to him for anything nowadays (especially considering the fact that most of the time it was <em> Gilbert </em>fucking up, not them) so lately, he’s been practically starved. </p><p><em> Currently </em> speaking, however, he’s wishing he knew about Canadian stereotypes <em> way </em>sooner.</p><p>After it was established that his brother now had primary control of Germany, he decided to enact little memoirs of himself around the rest of the world. He had already pestered Roderich enough with endowing the Teutonic Order in Vienna way back when, but he still wanted to broaden his recognition, perhaps outside of Europe? He rarely ever visited anywhere else, and he had a feeling his popularity would double tenfold if he could arrange something with Alfred somewhere in the States.</p><p>Turns out, Alfred suddenly had other measures he needed to attend to, so of course Gilbert decided to settle with <em> supposedly </em>the next best thing.</p><p>He had met Matthew Williams once or twice, perhaps idly during past world meetings (you know, when people used to actually give a shit on whether he showed up or not) and the two never really spoke. Upon first glance, they didn’t harbour much in common anyways; all with Gilbert being an aggravating dickhead and Matthew generally being much more composed, often keeping to himself - and there wasn’t any real obligation to even be formally introduced, let alone properly get to know each other. Sure, Matthew was cute, adorable, but Gilbert harboured too much pride to throw himself into what would most likely be an awkward conversation just for the sake of it.</p><p>So before Alfred abruptly cancelled their little get-together, he had quickly provided Gilbert with Matthew’s number in case he wanted to take a look around Canada instead, <em> “broaden your mindset or something, like ya know, whatever,” </em> in those exact words. If Gilbert was being honest, he didn’t really consider a visit to Canada - after all, the loud and obnoxious drama queens that were the USA was the original, more promising goal. Still, it wouldn’t hurt, and he’d often hear it’s quite nice over at the great white north.</p><p>“Oh, I heard about that,” the sickeningly sweet voice on the other end of the line told him. “You’re looking to spread influences around, eh? I’d be more than happy for you to come ‘round. I’m actually looking to set up something for you in Ontario.”</p><p>Now that was a first. Gilbert was rather more used to having to stand his ground on things like these. Roderich didn’t exactly make establishing the Teutonic Order very easy, but he supposes it’s to be expected after all their past conflict. With Matthew however, although not having much to agree on, they never really had any disputes or <em> disagreements </em> either. Sure, it could be due to their lack of general interaction, but who really knew? There was also the fact to consider that Matthew had something in mind for him even <em> before </em>he asked, and it made pink heat rush to his cheeks - but Gilbert just pretended not to notice.</p><p>“Awesome!” he tapped the table in front of him once or twice with his fingers, as if making a mental note. “So when do you want me over? I originally thought maybe this weekend.”</p><p>There was a pause, a slight gasp and a sigh.</p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry...” Matthew started, timidly; and the solemn, gentle <em> genuinity </em>of those words made Gilbert immediately perk up with full attention. “But I’m busy this weekend. I can do sooner though, perhaps Thursday? But I… I mean it’s really up to you of course, whenever best suits you, I’m really sorry if I’m being a nuisance, I can rearrange this weekend for you if you’d like.”</p><p>It took Gilbert quite longer than it should’ve to process what he’d just heard.</p><p>“Wait, could you repeat that? I didn’t quite catch it.”</p><p>Oh, of course he would. Of fucking course.</p><p>“Oh that’s fine!” the Canadian chirped back. “I said I already had arrangements this weekend, but Thursday or Friday suits me. Unless it doesn’t for you, in which case I can reschedule, that’s all.”</p><p>That isn’t <em> exactly </em>what Gilbert wanted to hear, and he was greatly tempted to cruelly feign disappointment in hopes of coaxing another apology out of the blonde, until;</p><p>“I’m sorry aboot that, I’ve been told I need to speak up, since I’m apparently so quiet.” A small laugh.  </p><p><em> Mein Gott he’s so cute. </em> Such a sweet voice, such a <em> pushover </em>.</p><p>“Yeah.” </p><p>Despite being the asshole that he is, he’d never normally manipulate or push his luck like this; but to be fair it had been a while since someone seemed so eager not to inconvenience him, and realistically speaking, when was he ever going to get another opportunity to feel so empowered from something so small after this? If Matthew was still the same when they’d meet on whatever day as he is now, then perhaps he’d wait - but patience came about as easy to Gilbert as apologising <em> himself </em>; which was not great. “To be honest, I have to strain my ears slightly to hear you,” he shrugged, let out a long and exaggerated sigh deliberately into the speaker. “It’s nothing to worry about though, doesn’t bother me,” he tried to sound as unconvincing as he could muster.</p><p>“Oh,” he heard a faint sniff and shuffling on the other end. Perhaps out of nervousness? The sickeningly sadistic part of Gilbert (that honestly made up most of him) rather hoped it was. “I’m really sorry, you shouldn’t have to make such an effort because of me.”</p><p>Bingo.</p><p>There was something about him Gilbert couldn’t quite describe. How repentant Matthew sounded; how gentle and submissive. He just sounded so <em> pliable </em> , it was so <em> easy </em>with him.</p><p>“Oh, y-yeah,” Gilbert remembered, before he lost himself. “Thursday and Friday suit me fine, don’t sweat it.”</p><p>“That’s great!” the Prussian could practically <em> feel </em> the blonde’s smile from all the way here, right next to his ear, so <em> close </em>. “I’ll see you soon then, do call me if you have any issues, eh?”</p><p>“Course! Will do.”</p><p>“Thanks for your time! Have a nice rest of the day.”</p><p><em> Click </em>.</p><p>Gilbert let out a sigh, a genuine one this time, and allowed a faint smirk to cross his lips. He found himself curiously placing a hand to his chest, feeling his quickened heart thrumming against his ribcage. His breath felt obscenely heavy and thick, heat flooding his head and some other less mentionable areas. </p><p>So, he’d just been apologised to four times in the same five minutes. Not only that, but they sounded so frail and legitimately remorseful; the slight strain in his voice almost suggested frightened, cornered and caught like hunted game. If he closed his eyes he could just picture it; the precious little Canadian on his knees, so tame and so obedient… if he was feeling generous with himself, perhaps Matthew would be crying. He’d be clutching onto Gilbert’s ankle, refusing to let him walk away; bent forward on his knees, the delicate bumps of his spine pressing through the fabric of his loose shirt - riding up <em> just </em> to show a peek of untainted, frail skin that teasingly disappeared beneath the line of his trousers, his rear tauntingly raised in the air and oh so <em> inviting </em> , swaying just a fraction from side to side with each meek tremble - his face practically pressed into the ground until he’d look up at him with those wide, watery violet eyes, dainty tears streaming down his cheeks; writhing and whimpering and hiccuping in an attempt to keep from choking on his own spit. Perhaps that cute mouth of his would be sobbing, so softly yet so desperately, over and over again; <em> “please, please forgive me! I’ll do anything. Please. I promise I’ll be good. I’ll behave. I’ll let you do anything you want with me, just please forgive me. Punish me! I’m begging you, please, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-!” </em></p><p>The shredded remains of sensibility steered his salacious fantasies away. He absently wandered over to his bed and collapsed onto it, swinging an arm over his face to cover his eyes and pressing his thighs together, idly pondering over whether or not he should do something to relieve the firm throb between his legs.</p><p>Maybe he should call to reschedule.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>As expected, their meeting in person was quite awkward; but in all fairness, that was Matthew’s fault this time.</p><p>It was obnoxious, really; how <em> distracting </em> he was. How everything he said sounded dipped in syrup, so gentle and sweet. Not to mention how fucking <em> adorable </em>he is in general; pretty, bright eyes; soft and full cheeks; his stupidly gorgeous smile in general. Surely he was doing this on purpose, there’s no way someone could be as captivating as this without even trying.</p><p>“I expected you to be quite meaner, actually.” Matthew had confessed, tapping his index fingers together, shyly. “Sorry if I offend you or anything,” there it is again, “but I’d heard that you’re quite rude, so I’m really surprised with how polite you’ve been. You’re comfortable, aren’t you? Please let me know if you aren’t.”</p><p>By “polite” he was probably referring to how uncharacteristically quiet Gilbert’s been. For once, he’s keeping his loud trap shut, primarily because he doesn’t want to say anything stupid that might upset Matthew and make him want to never apologise to him over practically nothing ever again. Also, Matthew’s been nothing but kind and hospitable to him since he showed up, even with all that he’s heard of him in mind. He’s probably going mad now, but Gilbert’s starting to think Matthew’s the only person who cares about him, which was in a way quite twisted and manipulative on his part too if you think about it. Good, he’s sort of glad it’s mutual; feels less shitty.</p><p>“Are you okay? Is something bothering you?”</p><p>“What? No,” Gilbert blinked, dazedly. “Why?”</p><p>“Right, sorry.” God fucking dammit. “You must’ve just been zoning out. I probably just over-thought it is all, my bad.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Apparently that wasn’t exactly Matthew’s expected response. They were in the corner of what would be a library, though the shelves were barren and cleared, and the room faintly echoed any small sound, any slight shuffle or hitch in breath.</p><p>“Gilbert?” he asked, cautiously, the look in his eyes akin to a sparrow being warily approached. “Sorry, but you’ve been pretty distracted all day. Have I done something wrong? If so, I’m really sorry.”</p><p>At first, Gilbert’s thought process seemed to completely bail on him. He couldn’t think of a single response, heck he couldn’t think at all, but as it turns out, the silence only fueled the means he buried deep in his gut after that phone call. He was being cruel, unfair and cruel; but at this point did he even care? Did Matthew? Did it ever cross his mind that maybe, just maybe, Matthew was doing it on purpose? Perhaps he liked apologising. Perhaps that was just it. Perhaps they were made for each other in that sense.</p><p>“You apologise a <em>ton</em>,” he breathed, finally. “I’m starting to think you don’t really mean any of it.”</p><p>Cool. Not obvious or right in his face, but the suggestion is <em>there</em>. If Matthew thought he was being a fucking idiot, so be it, at least it’s <em> that </em> and not being labelled the hopeless kinky fucker he actually (also) is. Otherwise, perhaps Matthew would go along with it because he was just <em> that </em>oblivious and eager to please, or even better; he’d play along on purpose. What a treat that would be. Gilbert might spontaneously combust.</p><p>“You don’t?” oh god, he was looking at Gilbert with <em> those </em>eyes again. Deer-like, soft, malleable - and in the nicest and most endearing way possible - pathetic. “You… you really don’t?”</p><p>He could just burst out laughing in his face and label the whole thing as some quippy experiment because the rumours were true and Gilbert is some freak. Or he could gamble every shred of pride and chance he has with the Canadian and surge through it. Worst case scenario is that he gets an immediate flight home and banned from ever entering this country again. Absolute worst. He pretended other more mortifying options didn’t exist for the sake of his intent.</p><p>“No, not really,” he lowered his eyelids, originally an attempt at looking disappointed or bored or something but now he’s lately registered he probably just gave himself away. Whatever. Too late.</p><p>“I see,” Matthew began, slowly, and just then his entire demeanour dropped. Confident and comfortable <em> now </em> was timid and amenable, and Gilbert is one-hundred percent convinced he’s doing that for show; there’s absolutely no way he did <em> not </em>do that on purpose. “Is there anything I can do to convince you?”</p><p>Oh they were doing this. They were really doing this. Matthew’s tone seemed so genuine upfront yet so challenging beneath; his eyes had turned darker, his demeanour now greatly exaggerated; folding his arms around himself in mock-nervousness. He was seducing him. He had to be, right? It made Gilbert’s fingers twitch, possessive. Matthew looked so helpless and tempting and fragile he wanted to <em> break </em>him into pieces.</p><p>“I’ll believe you if you make a show of it,” he shuddered slightly; barely allowed it to be noticeable, and at this point he harboured absolutely no shame. He tapped the ground just in front of him with his foot and before he could stop himself, he blurted out; “get on your hands and knees.”</p><p>He wasn’t completely certain on whether he was pleased or mortified when Matthew <em> nodded </em>, and took an obedient step forward.</p><p>“Stop. That won’t do,” Gilbert commanded, testing just how far he was allowed to push. “Start there. Crawl to me.”</p><p>Matthew laughed at that; just a little, like some sort of half-suppressed giggle, amused and mischievous. He took a step back, bigger than the one he had taken forward (presumably to create more of a distance), and the sight of him dropping to his knees without any sort of hesitation made the Prussian suck in a breath through his teeth. </p><p>“You mean… like this?” and the blonde somehow manage to muster the fucking <em> audacity </em>to slowly and revealingly lean forward, placing his arms in front to steady himself and lowering his upper half closer to the ground, just his upper half, and Gilbert caught himself choke on his own saliva. Oh, very clever. Trying to beat him at his own game. Matthew’s got more nerve than he gave him credit for. Without missing a beat, he began to crawl towards him. </p><p>“Scheiße.”</p><p>But Matthew didn’t break a sweat, stared him down as he crept closer, until he was kneeling right at Gilbert’s feet. He lowered himself onto his arms as if praying to him, ass still in the air, mocking; he might as well have been spitting right in his face; it was all Gilbert could do not to place his foot on it and forcefully shove it down. </p><p>Then, in the sweetest, most tantalizing voice he could, Matthew he ushered; “Gilbert, is this okay?”</p><p><em> “Is this okay?” heiliger Fick </em>. It was barely a question, there was no genuine uncertainty behind his words. It was fairly obvious at this point, but the blonde seemed dead set on trying to test how much Gilbert could contain himself; trying to break him in turn. This was new - exciting and interesting. Staring him down like this, Gilbert absently wondered for a moment if Matthew would obey him if he was requested to strip.</p><p>“That’s good...” he very nearly praised him further until he realised it would only manage to encourage him. </p><p>This had to be some sort of fever dream. There was no way this was real. </p><p>“Now apologise properly to me.”</p><p>Matthew had actually managed to coax tears into his eyes, they didn’t break, but they turned glassy and slightly red when he next caught glimpse of them. Gilbert’s mouth was suddenly dry, parched, and he gratingly swallowed it down.</p><p>“I’m so sorry,” Matthew whimpered, the desperation in his voice so <em> real </em>it was actually pitiful. He and Gilbert were the same height standing up, but practically curled in on himself like this made him look so small. He flinched and gasped when he felt a firm boot against his throat, not applying any pressure, but there to get the message across quite clearly. “Gilbert… please forgive me. Please,” and in some sort of daze, Matthew hastily wet his lips with his tongue and whispered; “es tut mir Leid. Please, Gilbert, I'm so sorry...”</p><p>Gilbert pretended to pause in consideration. Realistically speaking, he had made up his mind quite a while ago.</p><p>“Okay,” he said, lowly. “I believe you. I forgive you.”</p><p> </p>
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